


The Stitch

by TheWillowBends



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Fuckruary 2020 (Lucifer TV), Lucifer (TV) Season/Series 04, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-Lucifer (TV) Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22536223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWillowBends/pseuds/TheWillowBends
Summary: For Eve, the years pass and hardly touch her.  Neither does love.
Relationships: Eve/Adam (Lucifer TV), Eve/Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Eve/Mazikeen (Lucifer TV)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 84





	The Stitch

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Sensory Deprivation

**I.**

At first, Adam will not touch her.

She is a nubile and sweet creature, soothing and wanting, a woman who will never raise her voice in defiance. This is God's second take, the first woman redone - drafted, this time, from the righteous man. He will not make a second mistake. They will call her beautiful once the word has meaning, and still, Adam will not touch her.

"Do I displease you?" she asks, and something crosses his face, an emotion like a weight dragged across sand, before it smooths out to something flat and inscrutable. She never knows what he wants, even as she aches for it.

"No," he says quietly, "you are perfect. He said so. But Lilith..."

Lilith of the night who tamed the beasts. Lilith, beautiful and hard, a study in edges, made from the clay of the Earth. Lilith who would not bend until she was broken, replaced by a woman drawn from man's rib. Eve knows to fear God before she knows anything else; she knows better than to raise her voice.

The stranger who enters the garden does touch her. He smile is sly and his words charming, and he knows a bounty is useless unless plundered. There is something in his eyes that is wanting, something distant and haunting, and Eve thinks she knows what that feels like, so when he asks her what she desires, she says, of course, _you_.

Lucifer laughs when he fucks her, but there is no cruelty in it. Rather, he smooths his hands over her waist, runs a tongue along her jaw, tells her she is the most beautiful thing he has seen since the stars. She kisses him to quiet his mouth, and he slips a hand between them, shows her how to chase pleasure into the horizon. It lets her forget hollow inside her for a little awhile, but like all pleasures, it never lasts. 

God's wrath is frightening, but it is Adam's that proves worse.

Months after their exile from the garden, his silence is cold and brutal, a spectre looming over her. His bitterness is a vast enough space to have a place for both of them. She learns to quiet her tongue and avert her eyes, makes herself small next to him, hiding away any hint of desire that is not his own. When he touches her now, there is no gentleness in it.

"Your desire will be for your husband," he breathes harshly in her ear, panting, a fist tight in her hair.

"As God commands," she whispers, bent beneath him.

She dares not argue. Her sorrows are multiplied enough.

  


**II.**

Lucifer kisses her neck, sucks on a breast, draws his fingers between her legs with precision and skill. If she is perfect canvas for desire, he is the medium. Under him, she feels lush and free, something exuberant and unfettered. He is nothing like Adam and never has been, and that criteria fits well enough to satisfy her for now. If Heaven is stagnancy, Earth is constant and persistent change, and she chases after it wildly, a creature hurtling through the underbrush, into parties and drugs and sex and distraction.

The monster under his surface does not scare her, not any worse than the spectre of Hell. She has worn the vestment of God's punishment long, has held the bodies of children aborted, murdered, and exiled, known hunger and pain and fear. When she presses against him in the dark, she imagines she can feel the scars of His love on their skin, a thread that winds between them, binding them.

They make their own little universe at Lux, filled with the stars of bright lights and an ecstasy high. Theirs is a place where the past sleeps and the future is abstract. All that matters is the rush, the now: of orgasm, of touch, of smokey air drawn in and held tight in the lungs. They do not speak of the garden or the fall, those they have loved who have turned their face aside. Together, they can be anything, she thinks, anything they want to be, without God or failed love to hinder them, and the realization is so intense it feels like a shot of heroin or dash of cocaine, a sensation so overwhelming it makes her dizzy.

 _I'm so glad I found you,_ she whispers to him later, his mouth hot on her neck. He laughs into her sternum, mumbling _who wouldn't_ , before rising over her to kiss her soundly, the taste of whiskey on his tongue. When he goes down on her afterwards, she thinks of nothing, nothing at all.

  


**III.**

Mazikeen tells her she does not do feelings, and Eve decides that suits her fine. Love never granted her peace. Desire has led to its fair share of trouble. If anything is to happen, she cannot force it from the earth. It will grow on its own, cultivated through nature and will alone.

They fall into a strange sort of dance, dating but not steady, fucking but not _making love_. Breakfast on the Saturday mornings at her rundown place, the one she insisted on paying for herself, helping Maze sort through the latest collection of bounty offers before she heads out to her weekend job. They kiss on the way out the door, where Maze typically sneaks in a squeeze, and despite banging on about how busy she is, chances are she will swing by later to bring Eve a coffee when closing hours are nearing.

This is new for both of them. It has to be, Eve decides when they first stumble into each other after she returns. She gives up the partying, the drugs, the drinking, all of it, despite Maze complaining that makes them _boring_. Eve is fine with boring. Boring gives her time to figure things out, makes her examine those empty spaces within her and ask how to fill them with something other than distractions. It lets her look in the mirror without shame or doubt. It gives her time to unearth the anger she has kept buried so long for everything the men she thought she loved have taken from her - and for what she has taken from them. She learns what to retain and what she must cast aside. She forgives herself for not knowing that earlier.

Maze does not know what to do with love. Maybe neither does she. People are so different, full of flaws and hopes and desires and sorrows, that it amazes her to think that anyone manages to fall in love at all. Maze and she fight and argue, they make up, they wound and they heal, they have sex outdoors under bright stars and make coffee on weekends. They have all the histrionics and banalities found in books and television and friends, but still she wonders, _Is this love?_

Something has to break. She decides it is her.

"What are we?" she asks one night.

Maze pauses in her work, a tongue circling her navel. "What do you mean?"

"I mean this," she says, pointing between both of them. "I want to know what this is. What are we getting out of it?"

"I know exactly what I'm doing," Maze answers flippantly, running a finger over Eve's folds. The sensation makes her back arch, so Eve regrets it when she has to slide a hand down to stop her.

"I don't," she says seriously and watches as Maze's face falls, all of the feelings she assured Eve she does not have shuttered away. It makes her heart ache to see it. This is not at all what she intended.

Taking the hand wrapped in hers, she leads it to her heart. Eve thinks of the past, the years spent in a limbo of unbeing: the second draft that never lived up to the first, the woman who inspired gentleness but never love. An artifact preserved in glass, beautiful to behold but impossible to touch. She is tired of seeing without being seen.

"I want this to mean something," she says quietly. Maze stills against her, and Eve gives her a squeeze. "I don't know what that means. I don't think I've ever really been loved, but I want..." She swallows hard. "I want to try. With you."

A muscle twitches in Maze's cheek, and she swallows hard, like Eve is somehow the scariest thing she has ever faced down. Maybe she is. This cannot be resolved with a knife.

Maze averts her eyes. "My mother always told me nothing of God should be trusted."

Eve smiles sadly, her heart in her throat. "It's probably true."

Finally, Maze looks back at her, and her gaze is resolute. "But I've never believed in doing what I was told, either." Something in her eyes soften where it lingers on their clasped hands. "I'd like to try, too." 

"Oh good," she says with a laugh, "because I think I'm in love with you."

This time, it feels right. It feels like something good.


End file.
